Page 159 of Hard Pass

It’s unfair how handsome he is. That’s my first thought.

The second? Could this really last?

The question settles in my chest unanswered because nothing about this is logical. Nothing about this is safe. And yet when I lie here next to him like this, it feels like it could.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. Once. Twice. Three times.

I should shut it off so it doesn’t wake him, letting him have a few more minutes of peace.

The buzzing starts again. I’m just about to reach over him to try when his eyes flutter open slowly, disoriented for a second before they land on me. The sleep-drugged smile he gives me makes every part of me want to snuggle into him and wish the outside world away.

“Morning, Trouble,” he murmurs.

“Morning.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“It’s been going off for a while.”

“Has it?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.

“Mmm.”

He turns his head, squinting at the screen, and groans. “Of course it has. I’m sorry if it woke you.”

“It didn’t.”

He drags a hand over his face before grabbing the phone and unlocking it. Another groan.

“The guys?” I ask. I hope. Because I’ve learned that when it goes off that many times, it’s usually their group chat . . . or his dad.

And the moods that usually follow are completely opposite.

He shakes his head once. “No.” He pauses. “My dad.”

I reach for his free hand and thread my fingers through his, knowing his response to his father’s texts is always stress.

He stills, almost like the contact surprises him, but then he closes his fingers around mine. My thumb brushes lightly over his knuckles, my lame attempt to try and soothe whatever discord the texts being sent create.

The questions I’ve dared to ask him a million times race through my head. Unrelenting. Off-limits. And yet, I draw in a slow breath and cross the line.

“You know about my parents. How they’re wacky and call me Buggie and love to travel every chance they get,” I say softly, his breathing already slowing. “Tell me about yours.”

His reaction is immediate. His jaw tightens. His hand tenses around mine. His eyes flutter up toward the ceiling.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

I tilt my head slightly, studying his profile.

“Cole . . .”

He pulls his hand from mine and sits up fully, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “There’s nothing,” he repeats as he scrubs a hand through his hair and starts moving toward the bathroom.

I sit up slowly, familiar with this wall he just stepped behind. “We share a bed,” I say quietly. “Currently our life. We’re weathering all that out there. This”—I gesture between us—“I’d like you to let me in.”

He doesn’t look at me, but rather grabs his joggers folded on the top of his dresser, pulls them on, and then enters the bathroom.

“I need coffee,” he murmurs before shutting the door and ending the conversation.